


You Will Love Me

by franklyruth



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fic, Harry Styles - Freeform, I'm not sure yet, harry - Freeform, harry styles fic, maybe some spy action, okay these are lame, one direction - Freeform, somewhat stalkerish, somewhat weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2848088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/franklyruth/pseuds/franklyruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily just wants Harry Styles. And she'll do anything she can to make that happen, be it illegal or otherwise. She wants his love, and the want for that love of his drives her to do some pretty substantially awful and amazing things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Will Love Me

Emily scarcely notes the new email in her inbox. She’s too sidetracked with the bowl of pretzels in her lap, and the football game her dad is forcing her to watch on TV. She should see it, the little notification, bumping into the side of her laptop screen, but she doesn’t. For some reason, she doesn’t. She does happen to look over eventually, and see it there. Its hard for her to realize what it is at first, and then she does, and the black-hole that had been blossoming in her lower intestine all day suddenly erupts and overcomes itself, and she laughs out loud, and her father looks over at her, wondering what had provoked such a joyful sound.

“What is it, Em?”

She’s dead seriously awestruck, mouth wide open as she jolts up and starts pacing around the room, jumping up and down.

“Could you at least not block the game?” Emily moves quickly out of the way to abide by her father, too carelessly joyful as she runs to her room, slams the door, and slides to the floor with her newest email at center stage of her screen.

“Oh my god.” That’s all she’s able to think, all she can say. She’s too overcome with sudden anxious thrilling nausea and a smile ache in her face to do much else. It is an appropriate statement of course, no doubt about it. ‘Oh my god’ pretty much sums it up.

For the email Emily has just received contains, within itself, a phone number. With that phone number, comes an amazingly zinging sting of surprise up her heart, and with that too, is a great and unbound happiness, coursing through her. She’s shocked, she’s startled. Its happening. The email reads as follows: 

Emily, Here’s the number I’ve been trying so damn hard to find for you. Hope whatever you’re trying to do works out. 

Best of luck,

B.

B. is an old friend of Emily’s, a good hacker and famous social personality as well. She stares longingly at the phone number just after the signature. Its a beautiful thing, that number. A thing she’s been desperately planning and plotting over finding since she first began this little head-over-heels thing about the owner of the number. She didn’t think “stalker” described her very accurately. A better title would be Professional Lover From Afar. That suited her and her whole shebang much better.

That was his number. The boy she’d had eyes for since forever, and would only continue to, until she got what she wanted. Love. She wanted him to love her, and he would, she was very bright and knew exactly how to persuade him. She’d been studying him, studying psychology, studying to get the right jobs for the right times of this process; avoiding most other practices of life such as friends and boyfriends, trying so hard to keep up her steady work. 

It had finally paid of. She had Harry Styles’ phone number.

Well, what was she to do with it now? That seemed to be the obvious question. She added it to her phone, first. Feeling her adrenaline sweating out of her upper lip, tasting the sweat as she licked it away, smiling and laughing even more. 

She was getting deeper by the second, and she was only doing this one little thing. Success felt amazing. So fucking amazing. Now she had to be INCREDIBLY careful. One mistake, and this would all be for nothing. She’d long ago planned ahead, and figured out any possible bad outcomes that could come from a scheme like this. She could be blocked, traced, he could get a different number, so many things, mostly bad, could happen. But she was so focused on her most favorite end goal, that all of those other ones she didn’t want could wait outside. 

She was going to get him to love her. She was. There was so few doubts left, after so long trying to perfect her plan, that it would be almost impossible for her to fail.

She’d had the bottle of vodka in her room forever. She drank half of it, waited for the effects to kick in, and then she tried her best to dial his number. She focused herself as much as she knew how to when she was this drunk, and waited for him to pick up. 

“Hello?” 

THAT VOICE! A party store exploded in her brain, confetti of fear and wonder everywhere! Oh, it was glorious to say the least, the sound of him was magic, half amazing, half incredible. She was running out of ways to appreciate it, too many feelings, not enough time for analysis. 

“Harry?” There was a brief, almost unnoticeable pause, but she noticed it. 

“Yes… Who is this?” 

“Its Meghan.” 

“Who is Meghan?” 

“I’m Carl’s wife.” She swallowed. 

“Oh… Carl.” He was struggling to remember if he knew a Carl, most likely because he’d never met one. “Sorry, I’m having a hard time recognizing you.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll call someone else, sorry for bothering you.” And then, like she’d practiced, she burst into tears. She knew just how to play him, she knew he had sensitive side, he liked being the nice guy, and she smiled through her tears as they fell freely, phonily. 

“Oh no, is everything okay? What’s going on?” He sounded worried, and she choked on a sob, then another, hoping it sounded realistic. 

“I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to bother you.” 

“It literally couldn’t be a bother at all.” 

“I’m just trying to find something for my husband, and I can’t, and I’m just a mess. I can’t think, I might as well not even be alive. I’m so useless right now.” 

“Hey, hey, its okay…” He assured her.

She felt her heart flutter at those words. They made her feel heat down in her center, right where she wanted him to be so badly. 

“Don’t do that, you aren’t useless.” He continued in that same kind voice. She sobbed a bit more. His voice had the tone of someone sitting right next to her, patting her back to soothe away her pain. Of course she was not really in pain, and he would never, at this phase in the plan, mean to do that to her, soothe her, but she couldn’t help her own arrant dreams. 

“Thank you for listening… I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” She wanted to seem as concerned and self-loathing and unstable as possible. She’d been that way for real in her own life before, so doing it as an act, though painful to revisit, was pretty easy. 

“Oh, no, I’m very awake. No need to worry.” He did sound pretty chipper. 

“Well… I shouldn’t keep you from your busy life any longer. I really appreciate you listening to me, thank you. You’re very kind.” 

She was positive he heard these same words on a daily basis. She’d hypothesized that he either had built an immunity to them, but could act as though they were all still important to him, no matter how often repeated, or he was just so pure hearted and good, that he could be genuine about them every time. It was so damn hard to tell. 

“Really, don’t feel badly about it. Tell Carl ‘hi’ for me.” He sounded as though authentically concerned that his message was to be given to this man he had never met nor heard of, and that made Emily cry a few tears for real. 

“I will.” She said. 

He hung up, and she was left in a daze. She reached into her yoga pants, and started massaging a fast paced rhythm into her clit, feeling her pleasure cover her whole lower body, slowly emanating up her torso, overtaking her entirely, as she rolled over so she could ride her own hand, coming with her pleasured face contorted and pressed against her down comforter. 

This was going to be a perfect year.


End file.
